At the crack of dawn, I climbed onto a spinning bike at the gym, connected my heart-rate monitor, and went the fuck after it. My legs spun as if my life depended on it.
Actually, my sanity did. I was going out of my mind with regret and self-loathing. My only peace came when I was dripping sweat and physically exhausted. My normal once-a-day exercise routine turned out to be completely unsatisfying in the week since I returned from LA, and I’d upped the ante in response.
By the time I exited the spin studio, I was soaked to the bone and dreading the coming weekend. At least I had today at work to keep my schizophrenic mind occupied. I ran home, showered, and took a cab to work. As I took the elevator upstairs, my phone beeped.
JANIE: Drinks tonight. No excuses. See you at the Royal, Craig’s buying. 6:30.
I didn’t even answer. Tonight was Friday, the night Janie and I always got together. There was no hiding from her anymore.
I plowed my way through the day, wielding my red pen and my disapproval of this or that until almost six o’clock. Then I raided the fashion closet, borrowing an emerald-green blouse and a pair of dark green satin Blahniks as I promised Rivvi, our fashion editor, I’d bring them back in one piece.
Freshly changed, teeth brushed, and perfume spritzed, I made my way to the Royal. I indulged in another cab, my mood already too soured to brave public transportation. Inside the hotel, I made my way to the bar and only smiled when Craig set a giant glass of wine in front of me.
“That kind of week?”
“Oh, Craig, you have no idea.”
“Work stuff or boy stuff?” He gave me a boyish grin.
“Me stuff,” I answered.
“Want to spill? I’m game if you are, and I’m cool if you’re not.”
His brown eyes were warm like maple syrup, enticing me to dive in, but I just couldn’t go there. I hated myself enough, and if I went into my bitchiness with Craig, I knew he’d never look at me the same.
“I’m just going to marinate my troubles in this wine.”
“No problem, babe.” He winked and went to the other side of the bar to grab an order.
Click, clack, click. I could hear Janie coming from a mile away.
“Hey there, Char. How you doing, honey?” She squeezed me in a half hug.
“I’m good.” I only half smiled.
It was also a night of half truths. I wasn’t good or well or even just okay.
“Hey, Craig,” Janie called out as she sat down next to me.
“Martini?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now for real, tell me how you are.” Janie leaned in close and stared me down.
Her eyes were perfectly lined in black, her lids dusted in glitter, her pink lips were two shades lighter than her blouse, and she smelled like morning dew. I looked at her, really looked at her, preferring to concentrate on her perfections than my imperfections.
“Char,” Janie whined, dragging me from my funk.
“I’m okay. Just confused, you know?”
“No, I don’t know. Honestly, I’ve never seen you like this.” She downed a gulp of her martini and studied me. “You’re always the one so confident and collected. I’m the spaz, but now you’re all over the place emotionally.”
“I can’t explain it. When I met Layton on the plane, I was just ... so mean. I never considered myself judgmental, but there I was turning my nose up at him and ready to toss him out of first class.”
“Char, you’re a young, bright, and successful New Yorker. Do you really need to obsess over some slobby music guy?”
My hand shot out and covered her mouth. “Stop! Don’t do that. See? That’s my exact point. He’s a decent guy, went all out of his way to show me a nice evening, and then even worried if I got home when he knew I was bullshitting him.” It all came running out of my mouth without a filter or a breath. “And,” I stuck my finger in the air, “what do I do? I just shit on him because why?”
